


Challenge Accepted

by SolarPoweredFlashlight



Category: Heaven Will Be Mine (Visual Novel)
Genre: Consensual Kink, F/F, Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarPoweredFlashlight/pseuds/SolarPoweredFlashlight
Summary: Saturn makes a bold claim about what an insatiable size queen she is, and Pluto decides to put that claim to the test.





	Challenge Accepted

Pluto is so soft, so gentle, so insistent.

Saturn allows Pluto to press her back into the mattress, revels in Pluto’s lips against her neck, decadent and unselfconscious.

“Such a good girl,” Pluto whispers, and Saturn exhales the breath she was holding with a fragile shudder. Pluto runs fingers through Saturn’s tousled hair, loving, reverent, demanding. “Lie back.”

Her fingers glide down Saturn’s body, less interested in the details of birthmarks and freckles and scars, and more interested in who she is as a whole. Saturn does as she’s told and settles back into the pillows.

“I can feel how tense you are,” Pluto purrs against her ear, nails stroking down a thigh pocked with the memories of injections and drips and tests, tests, so many tests. “I can taste it, I can smell it. You’ll never live up to your bragging if your mind is always on and your body is wound tight like the cords of a rope.”

“Maybe I’m just a tense person,” Saturn mutters, sulky, and kisses Pluto’s sweet face. She doesn’t know how to relax, doesn’t know how to let down her guard. She just likes this, likes women, likes kisses, likes being told what to do – even if she isn’t totally certain how to process it all.

“Out there,” Pluto says, lips on Saturn’s, tongue luxurious and kind against her mouth as they press close. “In here, you’re mine.” There are the prickles again, hot and fearful. “Aren’t you?” Saturn swallows hard, her pride fighting with her pleasure.

“If I decide I want to be,” she says, petulantly.

“If you decide you want to be,” Pluto agrees, one long delicate earring drawing a line through Saturn’s glistening sheen of sweat from jawline to collarbone as she repositions. Saturn lies back and watches as Pluto sits up, straddling her, and removes one earring, then the other, never breaking eye contact.

“Look at you,” Pluto says with a smile, eyes hooded with desire. “You’re so well behaved, staying where I put you.” Saturn’s face gets hot, her fists clench and unclench, but she doesn’t dare move. Pluto’s gravity is too powerful, too potent, too heady to be worth fighting against. So much. She’s always  _so much_.

“Too much?” Pluto says softly, looking down at Saturn with the edge of hurt in her eyes. Ah, shit. She heard that.

“Never,” Saturn says, eager to reassure her, and the spell of obedience is broken as she surges forward and captures Pluto’s body against her own, runs her own hungry fingers up and down Pluto’s back, presses needy kisses to her mouth. She can feel Pluto smiling against her, delights in the way her earrings in her hands prevent her from grasping and holding the way she clearly longs to.

Pluto’s smiling, and then she’s laughing, indulgent honey-liqueur.

“You’re sweet,” Pluto says, pulling away to gaze at Saturn. Saturn smiles a lopsided little smile back at her, shy against all reason. “You’re so sweet,” Pluto reiterates, then kisses her forehead. “Lie back.” Saturn does as she’s told, returning once more to the pillows. She watches as Pluto sets the earrings on the bedside table, then slides open the drawer. There are a number of fun things in there, Saturn knows, although she’s yet to see all of them. The first is the lube, which is unsurprising but still exciting, and the second is the collar.

It’s a simple one, black leather, silver buckle, soft and supple. Pluto folds it in half as Saturn watches and then uses the curved fold of it in her hand to lift Saturn’s chin and force the Celestial Mechanics pilot to look her in the eye.

“Would you like to be mine tonight, my love?” Saturn’s mouth goes dry, the world falls out from under her, and for a rare instant gravity seems utterly, definitively subjective.

“Yes,” she breathes, the single syllable whining and needy, as much desperation as surrender.

“Good girl,” Pluto says. “Lean forward.” Saturn props herself up onto her elbows and allows Pluto to position the strap of leather around her neck, revels in the perfect pressure as she brings it tight and does the clasp. “ _Such_ a good girl.” It’s not often that Saturn is rendered speechless, but she is now, caught in Pluto’s orbit. She wants so badly to be good, to be right, to be what everybody wanted, to be whatever she needs to be in order to get praise.

“Shh,” Pluto says, kissing her forehead, kissing her eyelids. “You’re enough. You’re what I want. You’re  _who_ I want.” A silence, as Saturn floats in the feeling of her words, drifting among their tender syllables. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Thank you,” Saturn says, blushing hard even through the haze of pleasure.

“Back down,” Pluto says, and Saturn goes without complaint. Pluto smiles down at her, reaches out to touch her face. Saturn leans into it shamelessly, and smiles. “There you are,” Pluto murmurs. “Do you remember what you said to me, sweetheart, this afternoon?” Saturn flutters back a little closer to the memory, grasping at the loosening threads of her connection to the real world with its cruelty and boredom and endless remembering of things.

“What did I say?” Saturn asks, genuinely forgetful, basking as she is in Pluto’s authority.

“You said,” Pluto says, wickedness in her warmth, sadism in her smile, “that you can take anything. Three fingers. Four fingers. I think what you said to poor, traumatized Luna-T is that you could take my entire arm without flinching.”

Saturn’s eyes dance with laughter at the memory. She only said it to be shocking, although the smug ambition of the proclamation wasn’t entirely aimed at their more squeamish paramour. She knew Pluto would take it as a challenge, knew she would be expected to prove it.

“That’s me,” Saturn says, slowly offering Pluto a grin. “I meant what I said.” Pluto chuckles, and the sound is steamy like espresso, full of promise and vigor, dark and delicious.

“You’ve never done it before,” Pluto says, lovingly, and kisses the underside of Saturn’s jaw. Her hand is tracing Saturn’s inner thigh as she says this. “But  _I_ have.” There’s no question of whether she’s right or wrong, whether she’s bluffing – when Pluto speaks, she speaks the truth. That’s the way it’s always been, and it’s terrifying and intoxicating all the same. Saturn whimpers in reply, lacking any rebuttal, and rocks her hips against Pluto’s hand.

“You want it,” Pluto murmurs, mouth hot in the crook of Saturn’s neck, thumb hard at the seam between Saturn’s hip and thigh. “You do, don’t you girl?”

“Yes,” Saturn says, dignity and pride thrown to the wind.

“Relax,” Pluto commands, gyrating her own hips slow and sweaty in time with Saturn’s needy pulses. Saturn whines. She wants to, but she doesn’t know how. Pluto kisses from the shell of her ear down her neck, back up again to the other side. “I’ll help you,” she says, so soft, so insinuating. If she weren’t so much, so big, so everything, perhaps she’d have made the perfect pilot for String of Pearls, such was her power to slip between the cracks of Saturn’s defenses and gingerly disarm her from within.

Pluto kisses Saturn, draws her eyes open and towards herself. Saturn looks up at her, head swimming. Wordlessly Pluto slips a finger just on the verge of inside of her, gliding against her entrance, without breaking eye contact, and Saturn gasps. But no, still no, Pluto won’t press inside –

Instead she brings the slick finger up to Saturn’s mouth, lays it so delicately upon Saturn’s lower lip that she has no choice but to yield to the butterfly’s weight of pressure and open.

“Good girl,” Pluto says again, as she slides the finger into Saturn’s obedient mouth. Saturn is good, will be so good, so so good. She gives Pluto the kindest her mouth has ever had to offer, all tongue and no teeth, and welcomes her as deep as she wants to go. Pluto smiles, and that’s all that matters. “That’s my good girl, Saturn,” Pluto says, and the praise and her name together are a cocktail too strong to put up any resistance against; a helplessly aroused whimper escapes her throat. When Pluto eases the fingers from Saturn’s mouth, it feels like a loss.

But then Pluto moves her hand back down and positions them against Saturn and oh, oh, this is where they were meant to be all along.

“Be good,” Pluto says, “and take it for me.” And then she’s pressing and  _oh_ she’s in, in so easily and so good and Saturn doesn’t know why she ever wanted more than this, ever need more than this. Pluto breathes a trail, sticky and sweet, down Saturn’s collarbone, and stops to wrap a nipple in her own mouth, where she is sparing with neither teeth nor tongue. Saturn cries out, and those fingers – only two, only two so far – thrust deeper and stake their claim.

Fuck, it feels so good.

And Saturn can’t help it, here she is thrusting her hips in time, her body begging for more as Pluto sucks on one nipple and pulses so sure and so true with one hand.

 _Fuck_  it feels good.

But then the pressure and suction of her mouth is gone, leaving Saturn cold.

“Be good,” Pluto murmurs, a reminder, a command, “relax, and take it for me, love.” Her fingers pull out, slow, so slow, and the change of pace is a throbbing warning, a promise of more. Saturn has just enough of her mind still functioning to notice Pluto reach across the bed to the table with the lube. For an instant it’s cold against her, cold and slippery, but then the whole bed seems to vibrate with Pluto’s husky reiteration of the words  _good girl_  and then she’s inside of Saturn again, pressing firm and unstoppable, more than before, and oh  _fuck_ it’s so much and it’s so good.

Pluto repositions and then, amid those deep, thick thrusts her mouth is suddenly on Saturn, warm and all-encompassing and so damnably good at navigating to right where Saturn is most sensitive. Her body convulses as Pluto’s talented tongue finds the perfect spot, and then all thought dissolves into little more than  _yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes, fuck it feels so good._

The individual movements and components of Pluto’s mouth and hands blend together into tides of pressure and pleasure and penetration, rocking Saturn deep and hard. She starts to come close, climbing that rising wave and trembling in every limb. It’s a an indescribable storm of roiling feeling, and she’s all too happy to ride it to the top.

But then Pluto’s mouth isn’t on her, and she’s saying something.

“Not yet, my love,” she says, and Saturn keens her displeasure. If she still knew how to form words she would beg – yes, beg. “Not until I tell you to come.” Pluto’s fingers pull out, and then she feels it, feels  _more_  pressed up against her. Against, and then in, vicious, ruthless, unyielding. Fuck, she loves Pluto. It hurts, it feels incredible, it’s so much. “Just relax,” Pluto says, and her words are equal parts soothing and commanding. Irrevocable, inescapable.

“You’re mine,” Pluto whispers, pressing inside with those wonderful, wonderful fingers.

“Please,” Saturn whimpers, and hopes Pluto is listening, listening to everything else, listening to the electricity along her skin, to the leaping, urgent sensation between her thighs, to the wild thrumming of her heart. I love you, I love you, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, just  _take me_.

“ _Relax_ ,” Pluto commands, her tone pure love condensed to a swordpoint. As she says it, Saturn feels the seemingly enormous presence at her apex slip at last past some barrier, her body accepting the offering, the intrusion, the lusty claim. She cries out, grabs at the pillows. Inside her, muscles contract and loosen with frantic, wanton enthusiasm. Pluto holds, maintains position, waits for Saturn to adjust.

Saturn’s vision has gone white. She can feel every heartbeat inside her core, pulsing with how  _full_  she is.

“Good girl,” Pluto says, and she can hardly hear it. The roaring quiets after a while. “Do you feel that?”

Saturn makes a noise.

“That’s my whole fist.”

Saturn makes a louder, more desperate noise, and starts to shake.

“Come now, my love,” Pluto says, and as she gives the command the flat of her free thumb presses against Saturn’s clit and writes white hot circles there as she pulses the enormous  _fullness_  gently into Saturn, keeping external and internal in perfect time.

There is nothing, nothing but that feeling, nothing but the blissful friction, the edge of pain, the shocking sensation of  _complete_ and  _two notches past complete_  and the building, building, building of an orgasm like Saturn has never experienced before. She shakes, she sweats, she swears, she thrashes. And she comes,  _oh,_  she comes.

Saturn comes once, twice, three times in succession, and it’s utterly new and terrifying and something that might even be unpleasant were she not wrapped in the wholly safe and adoring presence of sweet Pluto, watching over her, bringing her gently but ruthlessly to a climax she’d never been prepared for.

And then, after –

After an explosion of primary color and unadulterated sensation so intense and abstract that Saturn could have sworn in the moment she was everting –

Pluto must have eased herself out of Saturn at some point, because here she is, wrapped around Saturn, kissing her shoulders, kissing her ears, telling her how good she was, telling her how sweet she was, telling her how proud she is of her.

There is a long time where Saturn cannot think, cannot speak, can only press herself into Pluto ferociously and cling, cling, cling like she’s afraid of losing her grasp on what it means to be human before she’s had enough of experiencing all the pleasures humanity has to offer.

Then,

Finally,

She whispers into Pluto’s sweat-sticky chest:

“I told you I could do it.”


End file.
